


Stud Poker

by DesireeArmfeldt



Category: due South
Genre: Challenge Response, Cliche, Fluff, Gambling, Humor, M/M, POV Third Person Omniscient, Poker, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-14 00:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/pseuds/DesireeArmfeldt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray and Ray are playing poker for unusual stakes.  Fraser wants to join them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stud Poker

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Cliché challenge at [fan-flashworks.](http://fan-flashworks.livejournal.com)
> 
> While this was written as a standalone piece, I would be amused to receive prompts for possible sequels. And/or write your own. :)

“Three fours showing, and over here. . .”  Ray Vecchio slapped another card down face-up in front of Ray Kowalski.  “Still garbage, ace high.”  Grinning, he pushed three M&Ms into the pile in between them.  “I bet three.”

“I fold.  Again.”  Kowalski tossed down his cards disgustedly.  Vecchio raked the M&Ms into his own pile and handed off the deck to Kowalski, who started shuffling, fast and hard, rapping the deck sharply against the table after each bridge-riffle.

“Hey, now, don’t be a sore loser, Stanley,” Vecchio told him.  He leaned back in his chair and smugly took a swallow of beer.

“Loser, nothing,” said Kowalski.  “I’m just waiting for the perfect moment to kick your ass.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep talking.”  Vecchio cut the cards; Kowalski dealt them each two face-down and a third face up: a six for Vecchio, a Queen for himself.  They each anted two M&Ms before peeking at their face-down cards.

Kowalski had three low hearts and the Queen of spades showing, to Vecchio’s pair of twos, seven, and four, one of each suit, when there was a polite knock at the door, followed by Fraser letting himself in with Kowalski’s spare key.  Both Rays looked at him in surprise, Vecchio nearly sliding off his chair as he craned over his shoulder.

“I trust I’m not intruding?” asked Fraser.  “I realize it’s a bit late for a  social call, but I happened to be passing through the neighborhood and I saw that the lights were on, so I took the liberty of dropping by to say hello.”

“Where by _happened to be passing by_ you mean you were walking home from O’Hare,” Kowalski accused him.  He bounced to his feet, wobbling only slightly, and relieved Fraser of his duffel bag and his Stetson, which he set down next to the door.  “You know, if you’d told us when your plane was getting in, one of us could’ve given you a ride from the airport.  I thought you weren’t even getting in ‘till tomorrow.”

“That was the original plan, yes,” said Fraser, allowing Kowalski to chivvy him to a seat at the table.  “However, we were able to wrap up our business in excellent time, which allowed me the opportunity to switch to an earlier flight.  Much as I enjoyed visiting Ottawa, I must say that I’ve been looking forward to sleeping in my own bed again.”

Vecchio, on his way to Kowalski’s kitchenette, had a sudden coughing fit and ducked out of sight.  Kowalski grabbed for his beer bottle, nearly knocking it over, and took a swallow.

“You don’t look so tired,” he remarked, gesturing with the butt of the bottle at Fraser, who was neatly attired in his brown uniform and looked (as usual) ready to run a marathon at a moment’s notice.

Vecchio returned from the kitchenette with a glass of water, which he handed to Fraser.

“Thank you,” said Fraser.  He took a sip of water, casting his gaze over the clutter of take-out cartons, beer bottles, and playing cards.  “It looks like the two of you have been having quite an exciting evening.”

“Oh, yeah, we been painting the town, here,” said Kowalski, dropping back into his seat.  “Too bad you didn’t get here earlier, you missed the strippers.”

“Ignore him, Fraser, he’s just pissy because I’m beating the pants off him,” said Vecchio.  He cracked the top off a new bottle of beer.  Fraser’s eyes flicked from the bottle to the empty ones scattered nearby, to Vecchio’s face.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Benny, don’t get on my case.  I’ve had a couple of beers, I’m not getting wasted, here.  I’m not sober by the time we pack it in, Kowalski’ll let me crash on his couch, won’t you?”

“Of course,” said Kowalski.  “’Sides, you can’t go home until we’re done, here.  That was the deal, nobody cashes out ‘till they’re broke.  Metaphorically speaking,” he added, looking at Fraser and waving at the pile of candy.  “Of course we’re not playing for money.”

“’Cause that would be _illegal_ ,” Vecchio agreed, rolling his eyes.

“I’m glad to hear that you’re not breaking the law,” said Fraser amicably.  “In that case, I would be happy to be dealt in, if you don’t mind my joining you.”

Kowalski and Vecchio exchanged a panicked look, then both of them spoke at once:

“Nah, Fraser, you don’t want to—“

“You’re tired, Benny, why don’t you go on home, pack it in—“ 

“I _am_ interrupting something.”  Fraser rose, frowning.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disrupt your plans.  I’ll just head on home—“  But before he could move towards the door, both Rays were on their feet, protesting and placating.

“No, c’mon, sit down, you’re not interrupting,” said Kowalski.  “It’s just a game, don’t matter, we can finish some other time.”

“Hey, if Benny wants to play, let’s deal him in,” said Vecchio.

“What?  Are you crazy—?” Kowalski started, but Vecchio overrode him.

“It’s seven-card stud,” Vecchio told Fraser.  “No wild cards, bet after every card, ante of two.  You can buy in for a hundred, that’s what we started with.”

“Are you sure?” asked Fraser, looking doubtfully at Kowalski.  “I don’t wish to—“

“It’s fine, seriously,” said Vecchio.  “Kowalski’s just worried you’re going to wipe the floor with him.”

“Damn straight I am, and you should be, too,” muttered Kowalski.  “What about—?”

“Don’t sweat it, Stanley,” said Vecchio.  “See, Benny, we figured it be more fun if we played for something real, not money, but like a prize.  You know, the way you might say whoever’s baseball team wins gets to pick the lunch place for the next week, or whatever.”

“I understand,” said Fraser.  “So you’ve assigned a stake of that nature to the outcome of this game?”

“Right,” said Vecchio.  “But don’t worry, it only affects the winner, and it’s nothing that’ll be a problem for you if you win.”  
  
Fraser glanced at Kowalski, who was staring darkly into his bottle.

“Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind. . .” he said.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”  Vecchio counted out a pile of M&Ms for Fraser.  “Hey, Kowalski, wake up, we never finished this hand.”

Kowalski shook his head.  “This is boneheaded,” he muttered, but when Vecchio put two candies into the pot, Kowalski followed suit.  “We’re all going to regret it. . .”

It was past two in the morning when Fraser turned up his cards, revealing a straight flush, and swept the last of the M&Ms into his pile. 

“Well,” he said, looking at his two opponents.  “I believe. . .”

“I’m done,” said Kowalski, glaring at Vecchio.

“Yeah, you’ve cleaned us out.”  Vecchio muttered, busying himself collecting up the cards and shuffling them.

“That was quite an enjoyable game,” said Fraser.  “Thank you for indulging me.  I’m afraid we seem to have run rather late. . .”

“Not a problem.”  Kowalski had his face buried in his hands, so his voice came out muffled.

Fraser looked back and forth between his friends.  “You never did explain to me what the stake we were playing for was.”

“Yeah, well, about that, Benny. . .”  Vecchio floundered, looking to Kowalski for support.

“You’re the one who dealt him in,” said Kowalski, one hand still over his face as he waved the other in Vecchio’s general direction.  “You get to explain it to him.”

“Ray?” Fraser asked Vecchio.

“Well, see, it’s like this.”  Vecchio ran a nervous hand over his close-shaved skull.  “We said that whoever won would get to, you know, have dibs on, um. . .”  He darted a glance at Fraser, who was watching him patiently.  “On inviting you to, well. . .”

Fraser frowned.  “Inviting me?”

“To bed,” Kowalski cut in impatiently.  “The winner was supposed to get to proposition you, Fraser, okay?  We figured it was a better way to settle things than a fist fight.  Only apparently Vecchio forgot that you’re a frigging demon poker player, so. . .”  He shrugged, then threw up his hands, open-palmed. 

“I see.”  Fraser nodded slowly.  “So, then, it would seem that I have won the privilege of. . .”

“Of propositioning yourself, yeah,” said Kowalski.  “Have a ball.”

Fraser’s frown deepened.  For several moments, he said nothing, while the two Rays watched him anxiously.

“Look, Benny, it was just a joke—“ Vecchio began.

“No, no, Ray, one should always honor one’s bargains,” said Fraser.  “Even those one was so foolish to make without requesting that the terms be spelled out up-front.”

Kowalski opened his mouth to say something, but Fraser stood up, tugging his tunic into place and brushing invisible dust from his cuffs.

“Now, just to be clear,” he said.  “I presume there was no stipulation about whether or not I was to accept the. . .proposition?  Seeing that neither of you had any means of guaranteeing my actions.”

“Of course not,” said Vecchio.

“No, it was just about who got to ask you, we didn’t know what you. . .” Kowalski trailed off, his eyes dropping to his hands.

“Very good.”  Fraser nodded.  “In that case. . .”  Straightening his spine even further, he cleared his throat.  “Benton Fraser, may I request the pleasure of a sexual encounter with you this evening?”

Vecchio choked, his face flushing; Kowalski went completely still and looked up through his eyelashes at Fraser’s face.

If Fraser noticed his friends’ reactions, he gave no sign.  Still looking straight ahead, almost as though he were delivering a formal report to a superior officer, he shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid I must decline.”  He turned on his heel and was halfway to the door before the others got it together to say anything.

“Wait—no—what--?” spluttered Kowalski.

Vecchio, slightly more coherent, stumbled to his feet to scowl at Fraser.  “Come on, Benny, we know you’re Mr. pure and saintly, but you can’t expect us to believe you don’t beat off now and then.”

Fraser turned back to face him.  “Of course I didn’t mean that, Ray,” he said, reasonably.  “I didn’t mean to imply that I felt there was anything inappropriate in the proposition I just made.  Merely that I don’t choose to accept it at this time.”

“Why not?” asked Kowalski.

“I’m waiting for a better offer,” Fraser said. 

He gathered up his duffel bag, put on his hat, touched its brim politely, and walked out the door, leaving the two Rays to stare speechlessly at each other.

After a long moment, Kowalski picked up the deck of cards.

“You in?” he asked Vecchio.

“You bet.”

  
  



End file.
